Chapter Sixteen
“Gathered all the seeds you ordered. Permission to plant?”
Keane hesitated, his thumb hovering over the up arrow beside the simple “Yes,” he’d already written out. It wasn’t a hard decision. At least it shouldn’t have been. He’d sent one of the “gray zone” guys he used for deals that needed an extra push to go his way to California less than ten minutes after signing the temporary custody agreement with Lena.
Rule #1: Asshole or get assholed.
Rule #2: Win.
His self-evident truths swirled around his head now, just like they did two weeks ago, prodding him to give the okay.
But Lena’s question from the first night they’d fucked under the temporary custody agreement was also doing unwanted laps around his brain.
Why? Why did you make me come?
It was a frustratingly good question. Their new agreement was supposed to be based in punishment not pleasure. She didn’t need to come multiple times to make a baby. In fact, if he was serious about punishing her, his actions should have matched his words. He should have treated her like what he wanted her to be. Nothing. Nothing but a womb in which to deposit his cum.
But he hadn’t. Why?
The still unanswered question sent a chill down his back, and that fear spurred him to action. Fear wasn’t something to be considered. It was something to be crushed. Win. At all costs.
His second truth burned bright in his mind as he pushed the send arrow. He then quickly deposited his “gray” phone back into his front right pocket and climbed out of his car, his chest thrilling with a new anticipation as he walked up the whitewashed steps to his brownstone.
It was Friday night, and the Keane Academy summer camp bus had departed early that morning to participate in an all-weekend AAA tournament in Vermont.
Which meant he’d have all weekend alone with Lena. Dark thoughts filled his mind as he let himself into the house.
“Abba…Abba, listen to me. You cannot hole yourself up in that store until the demolition people come! It isn’t healthy…”
The thin walls and the exotic smell of fragrant food, tattletaled exactly where Lena was and to whom she was talking. In the kitchen, on the phone with her puppet master.
“When you going to tell your dad about me?” he’d asked her once, drawing her back into his arms after she called her father with yet another fake excuse about spending the night at Vihaan’s place.
She’d dry laughed, like he’d made a joke. “Probably, around the same time you tell your dad about me.”
“Not the same. You actually give a shit about your dad. I don’t.”
“Hmm…” she’d said non-committedly before rolling over to kiss him and turning his mind to other things.
Back then, he’d let her distract him, but tonight he beelined straight to the kitchen.
He found her standing at the stove, still dressed in her work clothes and stirring a huge vat of something green and Indian, even though the kid wouldn’t be eating supper with her tonight.
“Let me at least come have dinner with you at the store. I’m making sarson ka saag—yes, with roti…no, not as good as yours, but I did my best, and it’s better than pizza and beer. Dad, don’t say no. Please, I’m just trying to take care of you. Please, let me—”
Keane plucked the phone from her hand before she could finish that sentence and hung up.
“Keane? Why did you—”
“If you’re going to beg somebody for something, beg me,” he growled in her ear. Then he plunged a hand down the front of her skirt and cupped her pussy as his lips found her neck. Licking and sucking at the erogenous zone he’d discovered on this particular strip of skin that summer long ago.
Still there. She melted into his kneading hand with a helpless mew. Forgetting about her father and the pot of dark green stew simmering on the stove.
He hated that she still responded to him like this. Maybe if she didn’t, he could keep himself from touching her. Wanting to kiss her for real. Like the eleven years never happened between that summer and this one.
He could feel her getting hotter, quivering underneath his hand. He pushed two fingers into her snatch, and she immediately began to ride his fingers, with an old rhythm they both should have forgotten after so many years apart.
“You want to come when we’re together?” he asked against her neck.
“What?” Her voice was faint, already breathless.
“You asked why I made you come when we first started doing this. Real question is, do you want me to make you come?” He ground his thumb into her clit. “Or is this something you’re just withstanding.”
She didn’t reply. Just moaned, her hips moving into his thumb.
“Gonna need an answer from you, Lena,” he said, punctuating the command with a squeeze of her clit.
“Yes…yes, I want to come,” she gasped out.
“Didn’t ask if you wanted to come. I’m sure you can do that by yourself just fine. What I asked was do you want me to make you come?”
She answered a little faster this time. Probably because she was getting close. “Yes…yes, I want you to make me come.”
“Then beg.”
She stilled. “What?”
“You heard me. Beg me, bad girl. Beg me for your next orgasm. Beg me for this dick.”
Chapter Seventeen
Beg me, bad girl. Beg me for your next orgasm. Beg me for this dick.
Of course, she hadn’t begged. She’d held on to her pride and told him that was a boundary she was absolutely unwilling to cross. Like any stable-minded adult.
And like the overgrown man-child he still was, Keane had taken his hand and refused to play with her.
Good, she thought jabbing her spoon into a bowl of the stew she’d made for her father. If she was going to keep this arrangement with Keane, there had to be boundaries. Just like she often counseled parents of teens who turned manipulative and whiny when they didn’t get their way, she had to draw her line in the sand and hold it…no matter how much her body whined about suddenly being denied an orgasm.
Or how much her pussy continued to throb. Aching for more than her own fingers could provide.
Probably because Keane had chosen this of all nights to join her in the dining room as opposed to eating in the kitchen like he normally did. His presence on the other side of the table taunted her in more ways than one.
“Next time you cook that green stew. You should make it mild enough for me to eat. When Vihaan comes to camp for Indian Tuesdays, he always brings something I can eat, too.”
She bit her tongue, and barely restrained herself from referencing Vihaan’s lifelong bad pattern of wanting to please other guys—especially when they were hot. Knowing Keane, all he’d hear in that retort would be, “I’m hot.” And besides…
“That looks like a five-star meal.” she pointed out, nodding toward his plate filled with a juicy chicken breast, lying on top of a bed of colorful vegetables. It had been delivered by someone dressed in restaurant blacks just as she was taking her plate out to the dining room. “Why you want what I’m having, I have no idea.”
Actually, she did. Winning. With Keane it was always about winning, and she’d inadvertently fallen into another one of his games at the stove.
“None the less,” he replied, leaning in. “Here I am wanting exactly what you’re having.”
Argh! Her head throbbed with fury, even as her pussy throbbed with want.
A dark voice inside her urged her to pick up the bowl of stew and toss it in his face. Let him see what it felt like to be hot and uncomfortable because of something someone else did.
But no…no…she was a therapist now. Somebody who knew and got paid to stay calm. She wouldn’t resort to violence…or begging. She promised herself that, even as her pussy continued to pulse, like it had its own heartbeat.
A vibrating sound thrummed from inside Keane’s suit pocket, and he pulled his phone out. “That’s Con. Lo
oks like the kid won his first tournament game.”
“Really?” Her heart lit up, knowing how happy Max must be. He’d been nervous all week about playing his first tournament game for the Keane Hockey Academy’s special combined 10U/12U summer team.
Before he could answer, both their phones went off again. His with another thrum and hers with a light tinkle, because she never left her phone on silent when Max wasn’t in the house.
She picked it up. And sure enough there was a message from Max. “We won! You should have seen Pavel. He made four goals!”
Her heart once again lit up, this time for the campmate Max had taken to treating like a big brother…until she noticed that this was the only message on the screen. Which was crazy, because she’d been texted with Max all the time. There should be a long thread—
Her confusion cut short when she saw the names at the top of the screen. Not just “Best Son Ever” as she’d labeled him after separating from Rohan, and “Me.” There was also another number she didn’t recognize. But it was from Boston, and a bad feeling sank her stomach when Keane immediately started to type on the other side of the table.
A few seconds later, a new message popped up on her phone. “Yeah, we heard. Way to go, champ. Got a banana split with your name on it when you get home on Sunday.”
We heard…home….
Max’s response immediately popped up. “Really?! Ice cream on a school night?”
And just in case she was under the illusion that the number belonged to anyone else, Keane looked up at her and said, “Seriously. You don’t let the kid eat ice cream on school nights? Even during the summers? That’s just wrong.”
Her stomach sank even lower. She’d hoped that a few days with his son underfoot would disabuse Keane of his delusions of in-person parenthood. But only two weeks in, and Max was texting them both, after his first tournament game win. Like they were already a family unit.
They’re getting too close. An ominous wind blew through her as she typed back a congratulations text….and wondered if she was setting her son up for another parental heartbreak.
But at least she’d discovered a cure for wanting Keane. By the time she got out of her before bed shower that night, good old fashioned anxiety had extinguished that foolish bout of lust. She took her shower, rebraided her hair, brushed her teeth. And she even managed to tamp down a small tinge of disappointment that she wouldn’t be sneaking up to Keane’s room tonight as she opened the bathroom door—
The sight that greeted her froze her midstep.
Keane…dressed in nothing but his birthday skin, lounged on her bed. Like a Greek god, who’d somehow got lost and ended up in Boston.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, wondering how he’d managed to become even more ripped now, despite the loss of his leg and the added on decade.
“This baby ain’t going to fuck itself into you,” he answered with a smirk.
Well, his accent and crude words completely shattered that Greek god image. But the way his smoky green gaze scanned her body, taking its lazy time with a slow up and down, made her feel naked, even though she was still wrapped in a towel.
Did she say the text from Max had extinguished her desire? She’d been on the west coast too long. A place that only used fireplaces as decoration. She’d forgotten how real fire worked. How sometimes it kept burning, even when you thought the cold water you poured on it had put it out.
His gaze, the sight of his long athletic body, rekindled that fire. Too easily. And she squirmed as a warm pool of desire once again gathered between her legs.
“Come to bed,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
“I…ah…thought we weren’t going to do that tonight, due to your little ultimatum,” she answered.
“Hey, ain’t nothing on me little. Especially my ultimatums,” he answered with a sly smile. Then he patted the bed. “C’mon, bad girl.”
She hesitated, but then decided he was right. This was the least expensive way to get what they both wanted. A baby.
Keep your eye on the goal. She laid down beside him and positioned herself on her side, too, so that they were lying face to face.
He moved in closer, resting his hand on her neck. Warm and heavy with promises of much more intimate caresses to come.
But then…nothing.
He didn’t make any further move. Just laid there, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his exhales like a slight breeze against her upper lip.
“What are you doing?” she asked after too many seconds of waiting for him to start.
“Trying to decide if I should tell you to take off your towel or do it myself.”
Her breasts tightened at the thought of being exposed to him, touched by him again. But somehow she managed to sound above it all and collected when she answered, “You should tell me to me take it off. That’s what this mind game you’re playing is about, right? You trying to control me?”
He smirked, no remorse in his eyes whatsoever. “You’ve got a point. Get rid of the towel.”
Baby…you’re doing this for the baby…she reminded herself, as she brought a hand up to the towel’s front tuck. However, her efforts to act as if she were totally above his male gaze, backfired when the removal of the terrycloth revealed her naked breasts. Their nipples already beaded with desire.
“You cold?” he asked.
Then before she could answer, he reached down between her thighs and ran a finger over her swollen labia, his thumb finding her engorged clit with the precision of a surgeon making his first cut. “No, you’re not cold at all,” he concluded, voice low and teasing. “In fact, you’re hot…dripping.”
He was right, and she pushed into his hand, already ready—too, too, ready for what would come next.
But instead of bringing her to orgasm as he had every night since they’d agreed to this arrangement, he quickly withdrew his hand from her aching sex. “Alright, get on your back. Insemination time,” he said.
A little confused, and a lot frustrated, Lena flipped onto her back and Keane rolled on top of her. Her body immediately heated underneath his heavy weight. So ready…
But then he took that away, too. Instead of pulling her in close, he pulled all the way up to one knee, pushing his stump out to one side like a tripod leg. Then he pushed on the back of her thighs, so that her knees smashed into her breasts.
It didn’t hurt, but it befuddled her. She’d never had sex in this position, and she had to ask, “What are you doing?”
“I told you my terms for making you come and you didn’t meet them. Figured this was the easiest way to make my deposit without getting your clit too hot.”
Beg me, bad girl. Beg me for your next orgasm. Beg me for this dick.
His words in the kitchen came back, taunting her with their nastiness and weighing on her even heavier than his hands on the back of her thighs.
“You ready?” he asked.
She thought about it and nodded. Maybe this would be better, she reasoned. More clinical, less chance of emotions getting involved…
Crap. Crap, crap, crap! She hissed inwardly just a few moments later. No, it definitely wasn’t better. She was lubricated enough just from the little bit of foreplay, and Keane’s shallow thrusts didn’t hurt. But they were a pale comparison to the last few nights. And though she understood the concept of clinical, get ‘er done sex in theory, it soon began to mess with her self-esteem that Keane, look so bored as he sawed into her. She wondered if he’d stop soon to get out his phone to keep him company while he crossed “fuck #24” off his busy CEO to do list.
She hated it like this.
“Okay, okay, enough,” she found herself saying what couldn’t have even been two minutes into the new position. Then before she could overthink it, she rushed out, “Please, Keane, just make me come, okay? I’m begging you.”
He stopped his bored sawing action immediately. “You crying mercy?”
“Yes, mercy. Begging. Whatever you want to
call it. Let’s please go back to the way it was before.”
She’d given him what he wanted. But of course, Keane couldn’t be a gentleman about it. He grinned like the villain in one of those dark superhero shows where the good guys don’t just not win, but get thoroughly defeated and demoralized in the season one finale.
“You think that’s good enough for me, bad girl? You need to work harder.”
“I have no idea how to respond to that,” she admitted, too tired and horny to keep the frustration out of her voice.
“Oh, don’t worry, baby. You know me. I’m always willing to give instructions,” Keane answered with another super villain smile. “Now open those legs for me. Yeah, just like that. Spread them wide…”
She did as he asked. Quietly. Docilely. Maybe that would be enough.
It wasn’t.
“Now, spread that pretty pussy wide for me, too…nuh-unh-unh. Use both hands, bad girl.”
Shifting her eyes to the far right, she reached down and did something she’d never done in front of another human being. Touched her own pussy, tentatively using the fingers of both hands to spread her lips apart.
Keane’s eyes gleamed triumphant under the room’s low light. “Wider. I want to see the pink. Even wider. Show me how wet she gets when she knows she has an audience.”
Lena would never refer to her vagina in the third person, but she had to admit Keane had a point. Erotic heat stirred in her belly and she could feel a new dampening at the edge of her fingertips.
Cruel and obscene. That’s what Keane was. And unfortunately her body was having an automatic response to it. One that went way beyond the natural lubrication of a woman’s body preparing itself for sex.
But she did it. She opened herself for him, and she kept her labia lips spread as he took his sweet time, looking his fill.
Which he did, before rewarding her extraordinary effort of embarrassment suppression with another command. “Now beg.”
She swallowed. Bit her lip. Then choked out another, “Please. I’m begging you.” Her pussy clenched underneath her hands as she spoke, humiliating her even further.
Keane: Her Ruthless Ex: 50 Loving States, Massachusetts Page 13
